


Because they can't stop this (we can feel it in our bones)

by SecondStarOnTheLeft



Series: We Could Be Heroes [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-07 05:58:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1116340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondStarOnTheLeft/pseuds/SecondStarOnTheLeft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Pack were all about law and order. Especially Ned's orders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sansa

**Author's Note:**

  * For [summerhall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerhall/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Songbird was part of a team, strong and bright and brilliant, casting light in the shadows that haunted Westhaven left and right and all about.
> 
> Sansa Stark liked singing and dancing and gymnastics and dancing, and nobody would ever have expected that the bruises and occasional shiners weren't from training accidents.

Sansa broke her ankle when she was six. She was dancing - ballet - and turned funny, and she felt the snap and fainted.

She never shed a single tear over it. Arya had told her that was badass, and got in trouble for swearing, and then Robb got in trouble for swearing in front of Arya. She remembered that and the horrible pink cast, and that was about it except having to be pushed around in a wheelchair for six weeks because the doctors didn't think she'd be able to manage crutches and she had to keep her foot off the ground at all costs.

She broke her ankle again when she was nineteen, but this time she wasn't dancing. This time she was jumping off a fire escape into the bed of Robb's truck, a brown envelope full of Pete Baelish's financial records stuffed inside her jacket, and instead of fainting when she felt the snap she punched the back window of the cab as hard as she could and broke two fingers, too.

That was a pretty decent indication of Sansa's progress through life, really.

 

* * *

 

During the witching hour, she went by Songbird. She'd purposely made her costume bright and shiny, because she was the decoy, really - not that she didn't hold her own in the team, but she was the one who drew the eye most if only because of her hair, so it made sense that she'd be the one who served as bait and lure and whatever else was needed to get the bad guys in position for them to be pounded into the ground.

She kind of liked it, really. She looked really good in all that blue and silver, and she'd gotten a sweet bike out of it. Arya had tuned it up for her so it  _purred,_ and it was so fast that Sansa was glad she had lenses in her mask. Bleary eyes were  _not_ a good look on anyone, especially not when their night job was to beat up miscellaneous law-breaking assholes.

And to occasionally break a few laws herself. All for the greater good. Probably.

So what if she and Arya sometimes broke into the Lannisters' or Baratheons' places and graffitied a little. They always made sure to lock up behind themselves.

 

* * *

 

The broken ankle once more kept her out of commission for six weeks, and  _wow_ did Sansa hate wearing a cast. It was itchy and heavy and uncomfortable, but she supposed it was better than the alternative because she kind of liked her feet to both point the same way.

Being out of commission meant that she was stuck doing the book work - she was rubbish at it, of course. She was better at the more personal information gathering, pinning her hair under elaborate wigs because it was her most distinctive feature and seducing all manner of creepy men and women into divulging their every secret to her very inviting cleavage while Bran listened via the mic tucked into her bra and Robb watched from the opposite rooftop.

They had a system. It worked remarkably well, especially considering they had to hide it from Dad while any operation was ongoing, because he freaked out whenever Sansa put herself in direct danger without her utility belt (yeah, utility belts, Dad was such a boy scout) on hand (or on hip?). 

But while she couldn't stand up unaided, she had to make do with being the one at the computer while Bran schmoozed and seduced - he was better at it than Arya or Rickon, and Robb didn't have the patience to wait it out and would have seen it as being unfaithful to his love interest of the week anyway.

It was while hacking the Keep's security cameras (numbers escaped Sansa, but Arya had written a programme that even she could manage that could've hacked anything in the world, she was pretty sure, even the depository at Casterly Rock) that Sansa somehow, in a weird internet way that she didn't really understand, met the man of her dreams.

 _You're being tracked by a Mr. Baelish,_ the stranger wrote,  _both your physical and cyber presences. Would you like him removed from your trail on the internet, ma'am?_

It was weirdly polite, but even a total stranger who was probably a Lannister was preferable to Pete Baelish. Nobody had ever creeped her out as much as Pete Baelish did.

 _Much obliged,_ she wrote back.  _How might I repay the favour?_

_Send this to your father and we're even._

A file appeared on Sansa's desktop, and she was torn between freaked out and intrigued.

She didn't tell her brothers or Arya, and she used a dummy email to send the file on to Dad. That probably meant she was more intrigued than anything.

 

* * *

 

During her convalescence, people apparently began talking about someone new on the scene. According to Arya and Bran's reports (they had a huge, very geeky, circle of online friends), someone had appeared very recently and was going to town on lots of people. Mostly people Dad had been working against for years, since before he'd relented and let her and Arya and the boys join in the fun.

Not fun. Duty. Never say the word  _fun_ about the night job in front of Dad ever, at all, ever. Massively terrible idea.

But there was someone, of unknown sex and gender, of unknown age and race and location and unknown  _everything,_ who seemed to have made it their business to help out the Pack (Sansa had very carefully insisted on not having a wolf-themed name, because gimmicks had never been cute and anyone who said they had was a dirty liar). Everyone had apparently taken to calling this kind soul the Phantom, because of course everyone needed some kind of absurd nickname.

 _Old Wolf_ and  _Young Wolf_ and  _Bitch_ and whatever else. Sansa was pretty sure she'd gotten off insanely light with  _Songbird._


	2. Robb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb Stark is not Ned 2.0. He'll fight you on that.

Robb had never really taken to the whole vigilantism thing the way the others had.

Sure, he was Dad's heir apparent or whatever the hell he was supposed to be, and like, he was the oldest, yeah, sure, but why was it he'd been forced into a costume when Jon hadn't? It didn't seem fair, at all, just because he was like, "seven minutes" older.

Yeah. Try seven  _weeks._  

Robb had never treated Jon as anything but his twin brother, and that was basically what he was, but fucking hell did he hate the way Mom and Dad gave Jon special treatment to hide the Big Secret.

 

* * *

 

He hated being the Young Wolf.

Arya liked to joke about it, their being known as the Pack, but honestly, Robb hated it. He was never going to get away from being Dad's son - the Young Wolf at night, Ned's boy right the way through college and law school, Ned's kid in the office, with every freaking judge in the city. He didn't even look like Dad, not like Jon, but Jon had gone straight into the Academy from high school and was a homicide detective now, making a name for himself away from Dad's legend.

Mom, at least, didn't see him as just Dad mark two - she encouraged him to like, do his own thing, be his own person, but it was really hard to be your own person when your surname hung over your head like a neon sign.

 

* * *

 

He didn't hate the whole bit where he got to save people, of course.

Sure, that was Jon's  _day job,_ but Robb got to do it in ways Jon couldn't - Robb could go and pound a Lannister's face into the ground if he needed to. He'd been the one to break Harry Hardyng's face after he messed Sansa around (not that she'd been grateful, of course, she'd said she wanted to handle it her own way, but she was Robb's little sister, what was he supposed to do? Let the guy away with cheating on her  _twice_ with two different girls and knocking one of them up?), whereas Jon had just like, bought her chocolate and been like "I know it doesn't mean much, but it gets better."

Right. Sure.

He really did like it though - he generally stuck with Arya, because Dad was still leery of letting either of the girls out alone and didn't trust them not to go hunting (their word, not Robb's) if he paired them off together, and because Arya was, well, Arya, that meant a lot of pounding sleazeballs into the ground and generally being a gentleman (gentlewoman, in Arya's case, maybe?). He was good at that, the whole fighting and planning aspect of it, it was easy.

It was the other side of it that got to him. The whole secrecy and subterfuge, the masks and costumes and having to lie about how he broke his fingers or pulled his hamstring.

He hadn't had a girlfriend for longer than two months since high school, which just made Jon bringing his girl around for dinner even more infuriating.

 

* * *

 

The weirdest thing was, he was pretty sure everyone else was sick of it, too. Especially Nighthawk. He'd sort of worked out a system with her - they were on pretty much opposing teams, but he'd managed to not have to fight her for a long time, and then he'd turned a corner and she'd had her mask off, fighting with Jaime Lannister, and she'd seen him before he could sneak away, and...

Well, their system had fallen apart. It was only a matter of time before he had to fight her, really.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Kettling" by Bloc Party


End file.
